


Rather Than Nothing

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [75]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Depression, Grief/Mourning, HYDRA Husbands, Light Angst, M/M, Old Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 19:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19707808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: “Do ya really want me to leave, Jackie?” Brock asks.“Yes.” He whispers.





	Rather Than Nothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hydra_Trash_Gal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hydra_Trash_Gal/gifts).



>   
>  _When the day is done_   
>  _And I lay me down_   
>  _I sit alone in my lonely bed_   
>  _And I think about_   
>  _The day we had_   
>  _And it makes me sad 'cause you're gone_
> 
> _When the day is done_  
>  _And I lay me down_  
>  _This sheet's so cold_  
>  _And your space is dark_  
>  _And I hear you whispering something sweet_  
>  _And it doesn't move me and it knows me_
> 
> _Wandering Star - Poliça_

Brock leans against the far wall watching the whole situation unfold in disdain, his arms folded across his chest as Jack talks to a man by the door. The priest is all dressed head to toe in his Sunday best and Jack listens in quiet intent to what he has to say. Brock only follows along with his own roll of eyes and minor but obtrusive snorts of disbelief.

Jack tries his hardest not to look his way, to not even acknowledge the way he’s acting and so Brock only does it more.

“I did do some research before coming out to see you, Mr. Rollins.” The priest looked around cautiously, his eyes roaming along the thick beams of wood. “This home has a rich history. There’s been many families that have passed through it and each has their own story to tell. It’s quite rife with tragedy and despair.”  


“Yeah.” Jack manages to say without making a face. It’s not exactly the house he’s wondering about when he first mentioned why he was asking father Andrews to pay him a visit.

Sure he has a ghost on the property but it’s not from the lot, it’s one that followed him here.

“I’m quite confident that I can help rid you of this disruption to your life in no time.”

“ _Disruption to your life_?” Brock parrots, voice tinged with obvious offense and a lot of anger.

Jack can feel the wave of heat coming from him, no more but a soft rift of what it used to be. Or maybe he’s just thinking this part. Dead people don’t project their feelings, not in this way at least, not with warm temperatures from what he knew.

(He’s sure if Brock projected like he did when he was alive, it would  _ definitely _ not be this mild.)

He sees Brock’s figure flicker and then fade out. Before Jack can even think about it, he’s advanced by their side, poking his finger through Father Andrew’s chest.

“I ain’t no disruption to ‘is life.”

The priest startles and stumbles backwards, his eyes widening . “That- that was- “

“Yeah.” Jack ponders how exactly this would work if one touch creates that kind of reaction already. How would he hold up in an actual cleansing?  


“Though perhaps I’m in need of some stronger supplies before I begin.” Father Andrews is already outside when he stops and turns around, brows knit together. “Will- will you be alright he- “

“Yes.” Jack cuts in gruffly, moving to close the door so they could end the conversation.  


“A cleanse?” Brock snarks out once the door lock makes a soft click and the priest has quickly climbed into the car. “Seriously callin’ up a priest fer a fuckin’  _ cleansin’ _ ?”

“Oh shut up, Brock.”

“How ‘bout I don’t.” Brock says as he moves in closer, hands balled into fists at his sides and he can feel they’re almost nose to nose like when they’d argue before.  


Jack takes a step around him, not that it really matters. Plus it’s not like Brock can actually hit him, but experiencing the sensation of your dead boyfriend’s ghost arm passing through your chest is not the most nicest of feelings.  


“How ‘bout I kick up a shit over you tryin’ to get rid of me! You even told a fuckin’ priest to come over. A stupid one too, but he was still ‘ere and serious ‘bout shit. Yer an asshole, Jack!”

“Maybe I am, but you shouldn’t be here. You know that.”

“What’d ya mean exactly?” Brock questions with a tilt of his head. “Ya mean, here as in at yer new house, or do ya mean dead, because that was a real pain in my ass gettin’ blown up like I did.”

“Jesus, Brock!” Jack shouts in his general direction before throwing up his hands with a shake of his head, drops himself down onto the couch.

Silence follows. All he can hear is his own breathing and the hard but steady strum of his own heart. The room is too quiet, he misses the way Brock would be able to fill it with just himself.

After a few minutes he thinks maybe Brock has left him to give him some peace to break down completely or to quietly sulk about Jack trying to make him disappear. But then he feels the careful, cool touch of hands wrapping around his own, gently pulling them away from his face. The weight at the front of his legs tells him Brock is kneeling in front of him, probably looking up and trying his best to hide the hurt he feels. It’s always made Jack feel less mad, less frustrated. He’s always managed to let go of a lot when Brock acts this way and  _God_ , he misses him. 

“Do ya really want me to leave, Jackie?” Brock asks, but the scratchy way his voice sounds, the clear plea laced in that he’s begging him not to abandon him, it’s the last thing Jack wants. “Do I make ya that crazy?”

Jack closes his eyes, but he knows from experience that it doesn’t make things go away. This is just another nightmare he exists in where he can’t wake up and find peace that everything is fine. That the other side of the bed has him there, breathing and warm.

“Yes.” He whispers, chokes up a little. It hurts because he can’t stand to know Brock is here every day, can’t live with the guilt and the pain that comes with seeing small signs of his ghostly form flickering in and out of sight. He can’t stand being reminded of all the ways Brock lived; the way he grinned and leaned in like it was a challenge before Jack would cover the rest of the way and kiss him. The way he would look at him across a busy room and savor and how he tossed and turned in bed when it was a particularly bad night until Jack pulled him close. The way they’d fight one moment, complete with hard blows and forgive each other the next. How they touched and cared for each other through the ugliest of missions. It’s worse than having only a gravestone to remember him by, because it reminds him, every living second of his own life, of what he’s lost.

Brock phases in plainly, he looks stricken and unhappy, golden coppery eyes shining up at him. He swallows and sits back on his heels, letting his hands fall away.

“No.” Jack amends and ducks his head away with a heavy sigh. “No, I don’t want you to go.”

“Okay.” Brock acknowledges cautiously. It’s rare for him to sound so unsure, but he doesn’t blame him.

“I’m sorry.”

“How many times I gotta tell you, you didn’t kill me, Jack.” Brock chides. “None of this was yer doin’.”

“Yes it was. Which is why you’re here.”

Brock makes a frustrated noise. “Yer so damn infuriating, ya know that? And dumb too. Brain’s made of shit, prolly why I like havin’ ya around so much.”  


Brock moves and soon he’s next to Jack, close enough to bump their shoulders together if it was possible. Jack shivers. The touch is freezing cold, but he supposes it’s all he has left for messing up so badly. He’ll take it.

It’s better than nothing, it’s what he deserves.


End file.
